


Trust You To Take Me Home

by missred



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Coughing, Fever, M/M, Overprotective, Prompt Fill, Sickfic, Touring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-28
Updated: 2015-11-28
Packaged: 2018-05-03 18:32:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5302337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missred/pseuds/missred
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pete gets sick on tour. Joe has a serious protective streak.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trust You To Take Me Home

Pete’s head hurts. He can’t breathe of out his nose and it’s making his whole head pound unpleasantly. The rumbling of the bus isn’t helping. He rolls over, groans, and drags himself out of his bunk. Joe and Andy are in the front lounge, playing xbox.  Patrick’s probably messing around with the garageband in the back, or still dead to the world. Pete stumbles towards the left drawer in the kitchenette, where he has some dayquil stashed.

Joe notices and pauses the game.

“You okay?” His face is scrunched up in concern. Pete is sort of charmed.

“Yeah. Just a cold.” He assures.

Joe is up a second later.

“You sure? C’mere.” Pete lets himself be led to the couch.

Joe presses a hand to his temple and Pete sighs,  _fuck_ , his head hurts. It’s been like this a few weeks, it’s just a shitty cough, and it’s taking Pete a while to kick it. The problem is it’s also it’s their seventh show in as many nights, and Joe gets more and more watchful with every day it hasn’t cleared up. The constant performing is harder when Pete is fighting fatigue and muscle aches and this nasty fucking cough. Joe’s been on him about drinking enough water and staying on top of his meds and getting him back to the bus as quickly as possible after shows. Pete can’t say he minds the extra attention, but he honestly is alright. Joe disagrees. He listens to the crackling cough and watches Pete hack into his sleeve with unbridled concern. Pete takes a few steadying breaths and punches Joe softly.

“I’m good, Trohman, it’s just a cough.”

“This is not just a cough.” Joe says decisively.

“Are you gonna tell him or should I?” Andy asks softly.

Pete’s eyebrows shoot up.

“Tell me what?”

Patrick chooses that moment to emerge from the back room, and plops down easily next to Pete and Andy on the couch. Joe stands in the kitchenette, hesitating. Patrick takes one look at him and says,

“Oh, they’re trying to tell you there’s going to be a car at the venue waiting to take you to the nearest Med-Express.”

Pete groans and scrubs his hands over his face.

“Christ, guys, it’s a cough.”

“You’ve had it for weeks and you still sound like shit and it’s driving Joe out of his mind. You’re gonna get checked out.” Patrick says bluntly.

Pete makes Joe meet his eye and asks hoarsely, “You’re really this worried?”

Joe nods wordlessly, wringing his hands.

“Okay. Okay. I’ll go see someone. Now get over here please, we’re going to hit a bump and you’ll go flying right into the cabinets if you stay there.” Pete shoved Patrick over to make room for Joe, who drops down in between Patrick and Pete.

Andy has long since abandoned the xbox and has retrieved a book from his bunk. He sits half-cross legged next to Pete, present but already long gone. Joe mouths “thank you” to Patrick when Pete wriggles up to grab his blanket off his bunk and settles back on the couch.

* * *

Pete doesn’t try to talk Joe out of going with him to the clinic. He figures the doctor will tell him exactly what he already knows--he has a shitty cough, and then Joe can relax a bit. It’s pretty quiet in the clinic at 1 p.m on Tuesday, and they don’t have to wait long before being taken back. Pete explains the cough, Joe fills in with the details Pete can’t really be bothered to keep track of. He honestly didn’t know he’d had this thing for three weeks, but Joe did, along with how he’s been up more than one night coughing bad enough he didn’t get to sleep. The doctor listens to Joe attentively while he takes Pete’s temperature.

“You are running a bit of fever, 100.5.”

Pete hunches his shoulders. He doesn’t usually mind going to the doctor’s, but check ups usually feel much less feel like a test that he’s failing.The doctor has cold hands, and Pete tries not to wince when he pulls up his shirt to listen to his chest. For a minute, the only sound in the room is Pete’s whooshing and wheezing.

Once the doctor has removed his stethoscope he addresses a few questions to Pete:

_-Has he been feeling fatigued?_

He’s tired as hell, but tour is like that anyways.

_-How long has he had the fever?_

Pete shrugs, he doesn’t know for sure,  but Joe offers a more satisfactory answer: on and off since the coughing started.

_-Has he noticed any shortness of breath?_

This one Pete hesitates to answer, he knows it will worry Joe, but finally he nods. A little.

“Alright, Mr. Wentz. From the sound of things, you appear to have bronchitis. A regular cough should have cleared up by this point, and the fever is not uncommon with bronchitis. I just want to check one more thing.” The doctor steps out and returns with an odd shaped device.

“I’d like you to take a breath and exhale into this, as quickly as you can, please.”

Pete complies, but apparently his performance is unsatisfactory.

“I’m going to prescribe you an inhaler with some anti-inflammatory medication to help with your cough until you’ve recovered. If you’re experiencing shortness of breath or a prolonged coughing fit, like the kind that would keep you up at night, take a few deep breaths with the inhaler. It should help clear up your cough and make breathing easier.”

Pete thanks him, even though he doesn’t want to. Joe has been frowning since halfway through the appointment. Pete loops his hand into Joe’s when they stop at CVS to fill his prescription and tries to get him to untense his shoulders.

“It’s not a big deal.” Pete murmurs.

Joe laughs humorlessly.

“You _would_ say that. Breathing is a big deal.”

“I can breathe fine.” Pete protests, “This is just like, backup.”

“You wouldn’t need backup if you were actually fine.” Joe points out reasonably. “We’re picking up more tylenol while we’re here, I don’t want you to run out.” He finishes, changing the subject abruptly.

Pete lets it drop and they make it back to the venue without further conflict. That ends once they make it inside and Pete makes it clear he’s still planning on playing. Joe is dead set against it.

“This doesn’t change anything, except making it easier to play. I can take a few puffs before we go on and I’ll be good to go.” He argues.

“The fact that you need an inhaler is reason enough not to go and jump around on a stage for two hours. And you still have a fever.” Joe shoots back.

“We can manage without you for one show.” Patrick offers, “Go recover.”

“There’s nothing to recover _from_.” Pete replies obstinately.

“There’s bronchitis, apparently.” Andy chimes in.

“You wanna go, Hurley?” Pete tries to joke, but ends up coughing.

“We only have a week left on tour, we could cancel.” Joe says, quietly, like he doesn’t really want to.

“Fuck that, we’re not canceling anything.” Pete bites out. “It’s one week, I can handle one week.”

No one else looks convinced, so Pete tries it from a different angle, the angle that’s really been bothering him.

“The kids will be so disappointed.”

“You come first.” Joe replies immediately. But he has the look. They have good fans. Wait outside for hours fans. Pete knows he’s made his point.

Pete plays the show that night. He gets off stage feeling flushed and exhausted and he’s ridiculously grateful when Joe and two security guys hustle him offstage and back to the bus before any fans trickle back towards the parking lot. Joe’s helping him strip out of his sweat soaked stage clothes and directing him toward the tiny tour shower before he can really protest.

“M’tired.” Is the most he manages before Joe has the water running and gets him under it.

“You can crash as soon as you’re showered, promise.” Joe placates.

Pete knows he’ll feel better after he’s not gross and sticky anyways. He quickly scrubs off and stumbles out of the shower dripping wet.

“Do _not_ go sit on your bed like that, it’ll get damp and nasty and you aren’t gonna want to lie in it in five minutes.

“You don’t know.” Pete coughs, but that’s about as far into the thought as he gets.

“I do know.” Once it becomes clear Pete is not going to get dry himself, Joe grabs a towel and goes for Pete’s sopping hair like he’s a wet dog.

“Mmm.” Pete hums and Joe hears it rumble in his chest. “You’re good at that.”

“You’re getting yourself dressed.” Is all Joe replies.

Pete stands, stretches, and pulls on his boxers.

“Dressed.”

Joe eyes him distastefully.

“This is probably how you got sick in the first place. It’s January, put some fucking clothes on.” He accents this demand by tossing a pair of sweats and a t shirt at Pete.

Pete sighs as he shimmies into the pjs, but doesn’t otherwise complain. Joe’s right. This is better. Warmer for sure. The bus gets pretty cold when they’re in the venue. Pete crawls into his bunk and settles down under the covers. Oh, this is very nice. He could sleep right now probably, and it’s barely past 11. Joe has other plans though. He shuffles around the front room and when he returns a minute later Pete is already on the verge of sleep.

“Come on, sit up.” Joe cajoles.

“Mgfhmm. Sleepin’.” Pete mumbles.

“Up.” Joe commands again, this time, pulling Pete up by his armpits and propping him against his chest.

“You coulda just spooned me.” Pete mumbles, still sleepy.

Joe presses the inhaler into Pete’s lax hands.

“You need to take a couple puffs before you fall asleep or you’re gonna be up coughing in two hours.

“Don’ care if I can sleep now.” Pete shifts and tries to slide back down, but Joe holds him steady.

“One minute, give me one more minute of consciousness.”

“Fine. Only because it’s you.” Pete grumbles, and he doesn’t need to turn to feel Joe’s satisfied grin.

Apparently he decides asking Pete to medicate himself is too much, because rather than hand him the inhaler again, Joe just shakes it hard and presses it to Pete’s lips, saying gently, “breathe.” He’s guiding Pete’s neck straight with two fingers, and it should feel stupid but it just feels nice, having Joe there.

Pete inhales deeply as Joe presses down and waits ten seconds like he’s supposed to. They pause and repeat the process two more times before Joe sets the inhaler next to Pete’s bunk.

“Thanks.” Pete says, quiet.

“No problem.” Joe matches his tone.

Joe grabs the water bottle off the floor and shakes two tylenol pm into his palm.

“I know you’re already tired, but this will keep your fever down while you sleep.”

“I know how tylenol works.” Pete tells him, bemused, taking the pills and gulping them with water.

He burrows down under his covers and he’s already mostly asleep before he hears Joe reply.

“I just want you to be okay.”

“I am okay.” Pete tries to say, but he’s too tired to get the words out. Instead he squirms, pulls on Joe until he’s forced to crawl into the bunk, lying pressed between Pete and the wall. That’s the best way he can show before he’s dragged down to sleep.

 

* * *

They keep that routine for the rest of week. Joe keeps Pete from going to the Meet & Greets, which Pete fights him hard on--it feels like cheating their fans. But Joe argues that he can’t spend two hours meeting kids and then go play a two hour show, and anyways he might be getting fans sick if he goes. Pete can’t really argue one either front. He’s exhausted at the end of each night, and he’s even not pulling any of his usual stage antics. Patrick and Joe help out by being even more active on stage, but Pete still feels bad about it. The rest of band makes it clear they’re not sure Pete should be playing, especially after the third night, when he has to step off stage when Patrick’s talking to use his inhaler. But Pete’s determined to finish the tour, and they’re close enough to the end by that point that even Joe doesn’t argue.

He does, however, check Pete’s temperature every chance he gets, (he alternates between fighting the fever off and getting it back again). Joe also continues to hustle Pete back to the bus after shows, and Pete’s tired enough that he doesn’t fight it.

On their last night, Patrick and Andy join them on the bus early. Patrick at least, usually stayed and tried to meet the fans who stuck around late, but Pete being sick had taken a toll on all of them, and they all collapse, sweaty and tired, on the bus. It was a good fucking tour, and they’re headed home tomorrow, they can crash in a hotel tonight and fly out tomorrow. Pete is dreaming of his own bed, but he’s sort of dreading losing Joe. They don’t live together off tour--working together is a lot of strain on any relationship, and normally it’s good to have that space when they aren’t touring. Over the past couple weeks though, Pete’s gotten used to Joe’s presence in his bunk, the gentle reminders to take his meds and the not-so-gentle reminders to shower. The thought nags at the back of his mind all the way to the hotel, but it takes him until they’re alone in the room, having said goodnight to Andy and Patrick,  before he can voice it.

Joe’s already showered and is sprawled loosely on the bed. Pete tries to think of way to ask this that doesn’t sound needy or deeply desperate.

“Joe?”

Joe rolls and props himself on his elbow. “What’s up? Are you good? Do you need the inhaler, I think it’s in my bag by the door--”

“No, no, I’m good.” Pete holds his hands up. “It’s just. I know tour’s over, but do you think you could. Just for a while--”

“Full sentences.” Joe reminds tenderly.

Pete exhales, frustrated and kind of embarrassed. It sounds stupid now but he’s already started and he has to just get it out.

“Would you mind staying at my place for little while longer? Just until I kick this cough.”

Joe looks at him and then laughs, long and hard. Pete thinks now might be a good time for the earth to swallow him whole.

“I know. It was stupid. I just--”

“Did you really think I was gonna let you go home alone?” Joe asks. He’s still grinning, and he pulls Pete in and hugs him tightly.

"You're ridiculous. I already changed my flight."

 

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt fill. Never written this paring before, hope you enjoyed.


End file.
